Page 99 of Deceitful Oath

“We kept most of the original features in the home, so bathtubs only,” he says, shrugging. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” I assure him.

I perch on the toilet cover as he runs my bath, stirring in some sweet-smelling Epsom salts as it fills.

I watch his careful, calm movements, wondering what it must be like to murder someone in cold blood and be so completely okay with it. The only reason I’m not sobbing right now is because I’m distracted—and I didn’t even kill the guy.

“It’s all ready for you,” he says, getting off his knees and coming over to hug me. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yes,” I force myself to laugh, swatting him away. “I’ve survived baths before.”

“No, I mean, alone,” he struggles to find the words. “Alone with your thoughts in here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I promise him, nudging him out of the room.

He pulls the door hesitantly behind himself, leaving it open just a crack. I gaze down at the huge antique tub, surroundedby hot clouds of steam. The idea of slipping into that scalding water and washing this stranger's blood off my skin sounds like heaven, so I quickly strip down.

I dip a toe in to test the temperature and slowly lower my body until I’m up to my neck. My head falls back automatically and every tight, anxious muscle relaxes.

Steam wafts around me, carrying the sweet smell of the salts. The lights are off, save for a small lamp on the counter.

Who has lamps in the bathroom? Rich people.

I try to shut my brain off, begging to follow my body’s lead, which has completely melted in the comforting water. It refuses.

The entire evening plays over and over in my mind, down to every single detail. The memories goad me into reliving it, again and again, until I break down and cry.

It starts off as soft sniffles and a few rogue tears escaping from my eyes. But soon enough, I’m ugly sobbing in the blood-tinged bathwater in a strange Victorian townhouse.Everything feels so wrong and ugly.

My sobs quickly turn into wails until my breath catches and I struggle to breathe. I panic, hyperventilating, trying to escape the bathtub.I’m going to die in here. I’ve survived so much only to die in a bathtub.

“Breathe, Lux,” Rafael’s voice guides me back to the present. “Deep, slow breaths. Come on, follow me.”

I open my eyes to Rafael’s worried face hanging above me, demonstrating meditative breathing techniques. There’s nothing for me to do but follow his lead so I breathe in deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and slowly let it out. Together, Rafael and I repeat the cycle until I’m calm enough to stop crying.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks, grabbing a clean washcloth and lathering it up with lavender-scented bodywash. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“That’s okay,” he says soothingly. “We don’t have to talk.”

He gently starts massaging my neck with the washcloth, and I begin to relax again. When I quietly thank him, he just smiles and leans down to kiss my tangled, bloody hair. He slowly works his way down, rinsing, soaping, and massaging.

I watch him as he works. His thick, dark hair is neatly brushed back and shining like a precious stone. His dark eyes are calm and completely focused on me. A fluffy bathrobe hides the rest of him, the sleeves falling into the water and getting soaked every time he moves his arm.

“Hey, how’d you get clean so quickly?” I ask, peeking at him with one eye.

“Secret shower,” he says guiltily. “I may have lied about that, but in my defense, I thought a bath might relax you more.”

“I was scared when you walked out,” I say after a few minutes, surprising myself. He makes a noise of acknowledgment. “So, I decided to just veg on the couch until you came back. Then we would talk. But, then the elevator…and anyway, when I heard his voice through the elevator doors, I hid in the pantry.”

“That was smart,” he commends me quietly, starting on my legs. I stretch one out of the water, trying to help.

“He found me anyway,” I say bitterly. “I even grabbed a kitchen knife, but of course…I didn’t have the guts to use it.”

“Not everyone is built for ruthless murder,” he quips lightly, taking his time to wash between my toes.

“He pulled me out of the pantry and threatened to…” I pause, struggling to finish the sentence. “Have fun with me.”

---